


Simply SoCo

by mcgarrygirl78



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily was so intrigued by the offer that she couldn’t say no.  Maybe that was his plan all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simply SoCo

**Author's Note:**

> Ziganov is a Russian cigarette, not a clove. I took some creative license on it to suit my needs.

Emily walked from the living room to answer the knock at the door. She looked out the peephole, a reflex, and couldn’t help but smile when she opened it. It had been quite a long day but now her smile was genuine. Aaron Hotchner was on the other side with a bottle of Southern Comfort and two small glass tumblers.

“I think I might be bringing the party.” He said.

“Oh yes you are. Come in.”

Emily moved aside so he could walk into the condo. As much as she loved casual Hotch, the few times she’d been graced with his presence, there was something about suited up Hotch that made her giddy. She especially loved the idea of drunken, suited Hotch.

“No weed?” Emily asked, taking the bottle and the glasses into the kitchen.

“I called my connection,” Hotch replied sliding out of his jacket. He put it over the chair. “He was all out of the good stuff; left with stems and seeds. He sends his apologies.”

“You’ve got a lousy drug dealer, Hotch.” She handed him a shot of bourbon, gently pushing the tumbler toward him. It had orange soda in it.

“Good help is hard to find, I’ll give you that. What is this?”

“An orange creamsicle. It’s a shot of SoCo with an orange soda chaser.”

“Interesting.” Hotch couldn’t hide his skepticism. “What are we drinking to?”

“How about to lousy drug dealers.” Emily held up her shot glass.

“Hear, hear.”

His glass touched hers; they took the shot down with ease, and finished the tumbler of soda. Hotch smiled at bit, licking his lips.

“Hmm…”

“Hmm?” Emily raised an eyebrow.

“It takes me back to lazy summers and the ice cream truck coming down the street. It’s delicious.”

“I think we should have another.”

“Alright,” He nodded. “But first I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” Now it was Emily’s turn to be skeptical.

He pulled the box from his pants pocket and handed it to her.

“I think I got the right flavor. They came in just the nick of time; I won't even nag you if you indulge tonight.”

“Hotch…” Emily didn’t know what to say when he handed her the Ziganov Black Cherry Vanilla cloves. She looked at the pack and then at her Unit Chief.

“They're your favorite, right?” He asked.

“Yeah,” She just nodded. “How…?”

“I know a guy. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was; it is. Thank you.” Emily quickly kissed his cheek. “This is wonderful.”

“You're welcome.” Hotch touched his cheek. “I think I’d like another one of those creamsicles.”

“Grab that bottle, let’s move this party Captain. The fun is only just beginning.”

Unable to hold in his grin, Hotch grabbed the bourbon and followed Emily into the living room.

***

_Just a small town girl_  
Living in the lonely world  
She took the midnight train going anywhere  
Just a city boy  
Born and raised in South Detroit  
He took the midnight train going anywhere 

Emily and Hotch rested on the floor against the couch, drinks in hand. They were singing along to Journey on her iPod. Emily tried to dance, spilling a little of her drink on her red sweater.

“Someone’s tipsy.” Hotch said with a smirk.

“I am no such thing.” She replied, louder than she meant to. Emily covered her mouth. “Inside voice,” She mumbled.

There wasn’t much Southern Comfort left in the bottle. Ninety minutes had gone by and nearly all of it was spent drinking and singing. Emily felt the heavy weight of the past few weeks lifting off her shoulders. They worked back to back cases involving young people.

Teenage boys were disappearing in Boston and then a pack of young people were doing home invasions in St. Louis. It was during that case that Morgan threw Emily on the ground to save her from a fast moving vehicle. Physically and psychologically, the past few weeks had been taxing. It had probably been longer than that but she didn’t want to think about it. Emily’s week of vacation started tonight and she planned to make use of every single minute of it. As much as she loved her job, seven days without it was what she needed now more than anything.

She was a bit stunned when Hotch asked her to go out for a drink that evening. He never asked her anything like that before, even though he constantly watched her beat back the demons of the job. Emily surprised herself even more by declining. She said she needed to go home and just unwind. Hotch nodded, he understood, then offered to bring the bar to her. Emily was so intrigued by the offer that she couldn’t say no. Maybe that was his plan all along.

“I better finish this so I don’t spill anymore. What do you say?” She asked, downing the rest of the sloe comfortable screw. Hotch made it perfectly, just as he did almost everything else. Sighing, her head fell on his shoulder. “Mmm, yeah, I love this.”

“Are you alright?” Hotch asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“I can admit to being a little tipsy…and it feels so wonderful. How are you?”

“Just fine.” Without his consent, Hotch’s arm slipped around her shoulder. He pulled her closer.

“Let’s have a smoke.”

Emily came alive, slipping out of his embrace. She didn’t have much trouble standing and she held her hands out for him.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“I only smoke in my bedroom. Come with me, kind sir.”

“Yes ma'am.” Hotch grinned like a man half his age and let her lead him up the stairs.

He’d never been in her bedroom before; he’d never been on the upper levels. The only thing Hotch could think when he saw it was how ‘Emily’ it was. Actually, he thought it was quite ‘Prentiss’. Hotch was still trying to think of her as Emily. They’d known each other for almost 3 years now and were trying to build a friendship.

It wasn’t easy for Hotch, it never was, but Prentiss was different. He was attracted to her, madly, but preferred to keep her at a distance. He was cordial, professional, but distant. Sometimes Hotch feared he wasn’t even cordial. Emily, for her part, was patient as she broke through his razor wire and high walls. She did it brick by brick until she could step over it and be in his life.

In her bedroom now he knew he was in hers. It wasn’t as he’d imagined it, and as hard as Hotch tried not to he had thought about it. It was maroon and crème with cherry oak furniture including a bed frame. There was a framed Vonnegut original on the wall above her bed; a framed black and white autographed Morrissey beside the closet door.

She had a TV on the wall across from the bed. There was a master bath, which wasn’t surprising, but the messy bed did surprise him. It was the only thing out of place in the room. The top of the dresser was a little disorganized but that was expected. Emily’s Abyssinian George was sound asleep smack in the middle of the bed. For some reason Hotch didn’t know where to look…he didn’t want to see the wrong thing.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” Emily said, pushing the large window open. She opened the pack and slipped a cigarette between her lips. Looking in vain for her matches, Emily smiled when Hotch pulled a lighter from his pocket. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” He asked.

“I don’t make my bed.”

“Ever?” Hotch leaned against the window seat, crossing his arms.

“Nope,” Emily shook her head, giggling some. “It started as an act of defiance; it became habit. I can't believe you got me Ziganovs.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” He repeated his mantra from the kitchen.

“Yes it was…it says something, Hotch.”

“What?”

“What, what?” Emily looked at him, deeply inhaling the flavored poison.

“What does it say?”

“It says that you put thought into things; that you care. It says that you know me. There aren’t too many people who would take the time to know what kind of cigarettes I smoke. It’s a habit I indulge in so infrequently.”

“Once a day isn’t that infrequent.” Hotch replied. “You better enjoy them while you can…I hear the President plans to ban them.”

“I'm not worried. I know a guy who knows a guy.”

Hotch grinned. They didn’t talk much for a while, enjoying the quiet and each other’s company. There were a lot of things Emily wanted to say but her head was swimming. It was a delightful swim, which she didn’t want to ruin by saying the wrong thing. Emily had a tendency to say the wrong thing, especially when liquor was involved.

“Did I ever tell you,” Emily gently tugged on his tie. “That I usually hate your ties?”

“You neglected to mention that. I would’ve remembered I think.”

“Well I do, and it’s not right. You're a handsome man, Hotch; your ties need to reflect that. We need to go shopping.”

“I'm sorry?”

“We need to go shopping…for new ties.”

“We need to go shopping.” Hotch repeated.

“Ooh yes, lets.” Emily put out her cigarette. She leaned on him, still holding on to his tie. Hotch moved his arm around her waist. “It’s important, you should have sexy ties. They're an expression of who you are, don’t you think so? I think so.” Emily nodded.

“My mother says when a woman puts her mind to something there’s no use attempting to talk her out of it.” He replied.

“That is incredibly sound advice. So we’ll do it? We’ll go tie shopping? I have time off; I’ll make time.”

“We’ll go as long as I get to buy you dinner afterward.”

He didn’t know why he said it other than the liquor loosening his lips. How long had he wanted to just ask her out? It wasn’t easy, and not just because he was her boss. That was a problem, yes; no, it was a challenge. It wasn’t as if Aaron Hotchner hadn’t faced and conquered so many in the past. He’d been through hell and back; wasn’t it time for some calm to fall over his life? Even with the alcohol running through his veins, he found that calm with Emily Prentiss in his arms.

“There is this new restaurant in Silver Spring that Nat has been raving about. Will you take me there?”

“Yes, absolutely,”

She kissed him and for a moment it caught Hotch off guard. He was just starting to enjoy it, about to really enjoy it, when she pulled away.

“Are you hungry? I'm hungry; are you hungry?”

“We should probably eat something.” Hotch said. “It should probably consist of bread. What are you in the mood for?”

“Pizza.” Emily took his hand, leading him out of the bedroom and down the hall. “I want meat lover’s pizza. We’ll get pizza and watch _Dawson’s Creek_ …how does that sound?”

“Just fine.”

“Are you sure?” She looked back at him as they walked down the stairs. “You don’t need to go, do you? I don’t want to take up all of your time.”

Hotch was staying where he was. Who would turn down such a fantastic offer? Plus, as quiet as he kept it he wanted to see how the love triangle between Dawson, Joey, and Pacey panned out. He wanted to ask Emily too many questions and probably fall asleep on her couch. He hadn’t requested a week’s vacation to clear his mind, as she had, but clarity is what he found anyway. Who knew Southern Comfort would be so effective in doing that?

“I'm not going anywhere, Emily.”

She smiled and her whole face glowed. She felt good, the alcohol had something to do with that but Emily was sure it was more. They were still holding hands, holding on, and she could feel the positive energy coming from him. For so long Emily just wanted to be a friend; someone he could trust and let his guard down with. It seemed every time she thought they were on the right path something else obstructed her way. Nothing was going to get in her way tonight.

***

  



End file.
